You’ve seen it before—the pictures of gorgeous vistas and incredible food, ancient architecture and rare paintings with the caption #wanderlust. If you don’t know what wanderlust is, here’s a quick definition: Wanderlust (n): A compulsive need to travel and explore the world’s most exotic and fascinating locales.
Wanderlust is an interesting concept. What’s not to love about Big Ben, the Parthenon, the Pantheon, the Roman Coliseum, and the Louvre? I want to go to those places someday, and hopefully I will. As a rural Iowa farm-boy, I wasn’t really familiar with these distant locations for most of my childhood. But I did finally get the chance to indulge in wanderlust to a certain degree; I was able to go to Florida with my girlfriend and some other friends. No parents, no supervision, no agenda or itinerary. Just us, 15 hours in a car, and a condo in southern Florida. Although Florida’s not necessarily a historical hot-spot, it was an incredible place to explore, and the beautiful beaches fulfilled a number of items on my bucket list.
Ironically, after I got back from Florida, I began to realize how incredibly frustrating each day could be. I went to a few interviews and was denied from each one. I had no money because I spent it all on pancakes and gas during my journey south. I became disenchanted with daily life. Nothing’s more frustrating than departing from 70-something degree weather in a tropical metropolis to arriving in a rainy, cold, and windy college town with just over 3,000 residents. My mind was a mess. I kept thinking about the week before: “If only I was in Florida. If only I could enjoy some more time on the beach with my friends. If only. If only.”
Then it hit me--I’d been overcome by wanderlust. I began to see Instagram shots with the caption “Take me back” or “Wanderlust,” and I’d think I totally understand. I saw my uncomfortably tan legs and sighed. I talked to other people about their trips and complained about where I was—and therein lies the problem. Wanderlust had made me discontent with my current state of life. I wanted to go back.
Wanderlust isn’t necessarily a bad thing in and of itself; I love learning about gorgeous locales around the world, seen through the lens of a camera. I have friends in foreign countries and I love hearing about their trips and sharing in their experiences. But giving in to wanderlust—wishing that I could leave, wander, and find myself somewhere thousands of miles away—is dangerous. It encourages discontentment. It claims to have an answer for the nagging you feel, tearing at your very soul. Wanderlust claims that your reality isn’t enough, that you need more. And when you reach that destination you'll feel great for a while. It'll be new, exciting, and dreamy. But it won't last. You'll need more.
But do we really need more? I don’t know everyone’s situation, but most of the people who read my work are abundantly blessed. I may only have a few dollars to my name, but I have incredible friends and family who support me through thick and thin. I get to go to a university where the name of Christ is proclaimed, all while receiving a world-class education in a field that I absolutely love. Hey, I’d love to visit Rome someday. I’d be on the first flight to Paris if I could go for free. But at this moment, at this point in time, I’m right where I need to be. And I need to be thankful for what I have right now, right here.
